by Celia Aaron
“What do you want?” If I did have a smile, it’s gone now.
“Higgie and I have been running the numbers, and we think that keeping the store open on Christmas Eve may cost more than Marley’s will make.”
“This again?”
“Yes, this again.” An edge of irritation finally creeps into Henry’s voice. It’s unexpected, mainly because getting irritated about a thing means you care about a thing. I’ve been under the impression that all Henry’s ever cared about is Henry. But, to his credit, he’s been at work every day since the holiday opening, sometimes getting here before I arrive in the mornings and staying after I leave. But I’m certain it’s just a phase. He’ll get bored soon enough.
“You and Higgie should focus on what we intend to do next year. This fiscal year is pretty much finished. Look forward, not back.”
“Is that right?” He approaches, anger in each step he takes. “You want me to plan ahead for next year. Why? So you can get an even better offer from a potential buyer?”
I finally meet his eyes. “What?”
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you? You think I’m an idiot and that you can do whatever the hell you please when it comes to this company.”
“Yes.” I shrug. I mean, wasn’t all that obvious?
“You’re wrong, Crane!” He slams his hand on my desk. “I found out about your plans, how you’ve been floating the idea of a sale through backchannels. People talk.”
“Give me names, and I’ll take care of it.”
“Right, because firing people is the answer. If you don’t find them useful anymore, just cut them off. Well, big brother, you can’t fire me.”
“Are you certain about that?” I page through my emails. “As CEO and chairman of the board, I find that there’s no limit to what I can do in the confines of my Marley’s prison cell. In this hell, I am the devil, and what I say goes.”
“If you hate it so much, why don’t you just leave?” he yells.
“So you can run it into the ground?” I stand and meet him face-to-face. “I can do that just fine without your help. And, yes, I will be selling this company as soon as I get a bid to my liking.”
“I won’t let you.” He steps closer, both of us toe-to-toe.
“You can’t stop me.”
“I can if I force a proxy fight.”
“I see you and Higgie have been conspiring against me.” I step back to my desk and press the page button for Beverly.
“Yes?” she answers.
“Higginbotham is terminated. Have security escort him from the premises immediately.”
“Crane.” Henry’s eyes are wide. “Don’t do this. It’s a week till Christmas. He has a family and you can’t—”
“It’s done.” I hit the button to end the call. “Now, do you need to be escorted off the premises, too, or are we finished here?”
His face falls, and he stares at me with an emotion I can’t name. Something akin to disappointment, perhaps? Whatever it is, I don’t like it. It makes me feel … slimy somehow.
“I know why you hated Dad, but why do you hate me?” he says it softly, and suddenly the room seems too quiet, too solemn, too honest.
I don’t have an answer for him, so I don’t give one. But that’s not entirely true. I haven’t always disliked my brother. Not until I realized that all the love I wanted—it was given to him instead. The golden boy, the charmer, the son who said the right things, of course he was treated differently. The surly son with the sharp tongue wasn’t easy to love. I am not easy to love. It makes sense that Henry was favored. And I’m mature enough to know it wasn’t any fault of his. But that simple knowledge doesn’t change anything.
The silence lingers, and he seems to deflate even more. Head down, he turns and trudges from my office. When the door shuts, I sit down and try to shake off whatever emotion is creeping up my spine. But I find I can’t. Even after ten emails and a call with a district manager, that feeling is still here, coating me in tar.
Glancing at the clock, I note it’s lunchtime. I have to see Lindsay, and maybe I can catch her while she’s not busy elfing. Somehow, I just know she’s the only one who can fix whatever Henry broke inside me.
“You don’t look so hot.” The drunken Santa leans against the door to the storeroom.
“You smell like vomit-flavored liquor, so I don’t think you have any room to talk.”
He laughs, the sound deep and rumbling, almost a Santa sound, but not quite. “On the naughty list for twenty-nine years running. Isn’t it time you make a change, Crane?”
“Keep talking and the only change will be your employment status.” I don’t have time for his foolishness. “Step aside.”
“Looking for that southern elf? She’s gone. Went to lunch with some friends.”
I turn on my heel.
“Do you even know what a friend is?” he calls.
“One more word, asshole, and you’ll be on the street where you belong.” I don’t stop as he laughs again, this one more ‘ho ho ho’ than ever.
Ms. Martin walks out of the breakroom and pales when she sees me. “Mr. Marley, we didn’t expect you in today. Is everything all …” Her worried trill fades as I hurry down the hall.
I stride out into the main store, past the tree and the Santa display, and then out onto the sidewalk. They can’t have gone far. Only forty-five minutes for lunch doesn’t leave a lot of options. That’s by design, of course, keeps the staff nearby so they don’t waste precious time that could be better spent working.
She loves Mexican, so I turn right and jog along the sidewalk toward Sabor. I don’t make a habit of running in business attire, but for some reason, I can’t stop. I need her. Henry’s words, the look on his face, the crushed way he left—I can’t seem to stop thinking about it all. But Lindsay can fix it. All I need is her.
I catch sight of her through Sabor’s window, and I breathe a little easier. I smooth my hair and coat, then walk in. The smell of sizzling fajitas wafts through the air as does Lindsay’s laughter. Her roommate Grant and the other elves are sitting with her in the busy restaurant.
“Hey.” Grant looks up. “It’s your guy.” He elbows Lindsay.
“Crane.” She stands and shimmies between the too-close chairs to get to me. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” Resting her hands on my chest, she looks up at me, eyes worried.
“I just needed to see you.” I pull her to me and inhale the scent of her hair along with the aroma of Mexican cuisine.
“Okay.” She wraps her arms around my neck as I hold her close—hugging her in a crowded restaurant in the middle of the New York City work day. But most people don’t even look at us. New York is a strange town, and this doesn’t even touch the bottom of the weird-meter.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she whispers.
“No.” I clear my throat, my tension flowing away just from the nearness of her. “I’m sorry I interrupted your lunch.”
“You want to join? We can make room.”
“No.” I pull back and cup her cheek. “You have lunch with your friends. I’ll see you after work.”
“Okay. We’re just celebrating since Grant got the part in A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” she turns and beams at him.
Jealousy tries to crawl its way out of me, but I tamp it back down. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” He gives me a cool wave. “I’m finally the fairy my father always feared I’d be.”
Lindsay pulls on my scarf. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
I don’t like the worry I’ve caused in her. “Everything’s fine. I just wanted to drop by. That’s all.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t sound convinced, but there’s not much investigating she can do in the middle of a noisy restaurant while her friends look on. “I’ll see you right after work.”
“Yes.” I kiss her on the mouth but try to keep it PG. Then, because I am who I am, I slip her some tongue.
Someone at a nearby table whistles, and when
I release her she’s blushing.
I’m fine. Everything is fine. Henry is just being dramatic, and my plans are going to work out.
“Everything’s great,” I reassure her and walk her back to the table. “Sorry for the interruption, and congrats again, Grant. Lunch is on me.”
“Thanks.” He nods, and the elves stare at him with hopeful eyes. How can they not know he bats for the other team?
I make my way to the bar to pay their tab.
“When are we flying out?” Grant asks Lindsay. “Did you buy tickets yet?”
The restaurant is loud, but I’m close enough to catch most of what he’s saying.
“I’m working until Christmas Day, so I’m going to drive down when my shift is over on Christmas Eve. But your flight is three days before Christmas, I think? I’ll have to look at what I booked.”
Lindsay is leaving?
“You’re missing Christmas Eve. Seriously? You told your mama yet?” Grant asks. “She’s going to have a shit fit.”
“No.” She says something else, but I can’t make it out since the table behind me gets rowdy for a moment. Apparently, it’s someone’s birthday, and that someone didn’t have the good manners to celebrate elsewhere.
“You could quit now, you know,” Grant says. “I’ve got the part. You can go back to not-so-steady work and try for better acting gigs in between.”
“I don’t mind the gig.” Lindsay sighs. “And working for …”
The birthday table behind me acts up again so I miss whatever she says next.
“… can’t believe I have to work on Christmas Eve.” The elf across from her gripes. “My mom was livid, too.”
I pay the tab, then hurry out into the cold, sunny day. She waves at me through the window, and I wave back.
Though I feel better than when I walked in, I now have another problem. Lindsay is leaving. So how do I get her to stay?
Chapter 14
Lindsay
“Rehearsals are grueling.” Grant collapses onto his futon.
“Do you love it, though?”
“Every second of it.” He grins. “Did you see Sexy-Crazy-Eyes again after lunch?”
“He brought me home to you, dear friend.” I touch the face mask I applied an hour ago. The instructions said to leave it on for fifteen minutes, but mama needs smaller pores, dammit!
“He busy tonight?”
“Yes.” I relax onto my pillow. “He said he needed to go over some things at the office. Something about proxy research.”
“What’s a proxy?”
“No clue. Sounds very business-y and CEO-y to me.” I scroll through my Instagram, then post my most recent selfie with Crane. He looks grumpy, which I find endearing. He smiles plenty with me, but the second I whip out my phone for a picture, he goes all blue steel.
“That’s a cute one.” Grant is scrolling Insta, too, apparently. “Why’s he always frowning?”
“It’s just his thing.”
“But he’s nice to you, right?” He turns to look at me, his eyes tired but focused.
“Yes. I’ve told you that a million times. He’s nice.”
“Nice guys don’t make people work on Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve.” He wrinkles his nose, then touches it. “I have to stop doing that. You got another mask?”
“Yep.” I point to the bathroom. “He’s really into work. Though, he doesn’t like work.”
He gets up and drags the few steps to the sink. “I thought guys like him lived for work.”
It takes me forever to figure out the mask thing, but he’s got his on in thirty seconds and is already back in bed.
“He doesn’t like his work because his father—”
“Daddy issues. I could’ve told you that.” He scoots the new space heater a little closer to him. “You’re over here getting serious with a guy who has daddy issues. Meanwhile, I’m in a weird dry spell. What is this world coming to?”
“Anyway, as I was saying, his dad poured himself into the company and neglected Crane and his brother Henry, but Crane more, I think. So, that’s why he’s sort of not into the business.”
“Why doesn’t he just let his brother have it?” He gasps. “Wait. Is that the blond one I saw at the store the other day? Blue eyes? Tight pants?”
“Henry’s straight.”
“Ugh.” He settles back down. “What a waste.”
“But Crane is good at running the company.”
“Is that why turnover is so high?” Grant’s sarcasm is light. He must be getting sleepy.
“He just runs a tight ship is all. He’s a nice person.”
“Is he, though?” He plugs his phone in and lays it next to his pillow. “I mean sure he’s nice to you, but he seems horrible to everyone else. Is that the kind of guy you want to be with?”
I want to say ‘he’s good to other people’ or ‘you just don’t know the real him,’ but both things die on my tongue. Because Grant has a point. Crane is mean to people, most people, in fact. The way he talked to me when he thought I was Santa—that was awful. And I haven’t really seen him act any differently to anyone but me.
“See? Now I’ve got you questioning. Just ignore me. I’m clearly in a lack-of-sex induced haze.” He sighs. “You know I love you, right?”
“I know. I love you, too.”
“And I want you to be with the right guy.”
“Yeah. I want the same for you.”
“Thank you. And I think Crane has potential, but you need to watch yourself.” His voice grows quiet as he begins to enter half-awake, half-snooze. “He’s got issues. Remember when I tried to fix Zach? Broken arm, broken heart, and lesson learned. Don’t be stupid Grant. Be smart Grant who now knows better. Be me. Be a cute girl version of me.”
“Right.” I close my eyes and listen to his familiar snores as he enters full-snooze.
Despite Grant’s warning, I know Crane is good. I just know it. But I’m not sure how I can convince everyone else of that fact.
Chapter 15
Lindsay
“Mama, I have to go.”
“You come home right now. It’s three days till Christmas. Right now, Lindsay Sabrina Fairchild!”
“Mom, I told you. I’m leaving here after my Christmas Eve shift.”
“And I told you that you need to get your happy ass down here for the holidays or so help me—”
“Leave the girl alone,” Dad calls from the background. “She’ll get here when she gets here.”
“Don’t you go ganging up on me.” Her familiar indignant huff brings a smile to my lips. “Gable, tell your sister.”
“Come home, Lindsay,” my brother says with a noted lack of enthusiasm.
“See? Your baby brother needs you.”
“He’s seventeen, Mom. Not a baby. Doesn’t need me. And I’ll be there in the wee hours of Christmas morning. Just pretend Santa is bringing me.”
“That boss of yours is the worst, a horrible person, a monster for making you work on Christmas Eve!” Her blood is up, and I know she’ll continue blustering for at least an hour. But the Santa shift is starting, and I have to go. I also don’t want to tell her that technically, I could quit the seasonal job and come on home, but then—
“Who’s gonna play Santa?”
I jump and turn to find the drunken Claus standing behind me. “Mama, gotta go. Love you. See you soon.” I end the call when Mama is mid-squawk. “Mister, you need a bell.” I point to his neck. One covered by a white, fluffy beard. It’s no longer the scraggly mess I’m used, and even his skin looks less sallow, his eyes clear.
“You cleaned up.”
He tucks his thumbs into his black suspenders. “I had some extra pay, so I spent it on a barber. You like?”
“Your extra pay is earned from my labor.” I stalk into the changing stall and strip out of my street clothes. Dressing quickly, I’m almost done when I look around and don’t see my hat.
Drunken Santa hands it over the curtain to me.
“Thanks,” I say out of habit.
I snug it onto my head, then walk out and check the mirror.
He taps the side of his nose. “It’s like magic.”
“What are you even doing here? You clearly don’t intend to work.”
“I came by for my check.”
“Right. Money for more booze. That’s just what you need.” I add a little extra Rudolph fluff to my belly area, then turn to the side to check the angle.
“Looking good.” He smiles, and I notice his cheeks are … rosy. Not drunk rosy, either. Healthy rosy. “How’s it going with Crane? You two have been inseparable for the last month.”
“That is none of your business.” I narrow my eyes at him in the mirror.
“His Christmas spirit is improved but only in one area. Yours. Everyone else—” He does a thumbs down. His nails are clean now, no more grime. “He’s still the same old Scrooge in here.” He points to his heart.
I whirl on him and hold up a finger. “Are you the real—”
“Santa!” Chrissy calls from the storeroom door. “Time to go!”
He shrugs and runs his thumbs up and down his suspenders. “Better get going. You got a job to do, and I must say you’re excellent at it. Makes me proud.”
I rush away from him, and when I get to the door and look back, he’s gone.
“Ho ho ho!” I welcome a little girl onto my lap. Her black hair is done in a pretty ponytail, and she takes me in with her big, dark eyes.
“Santa,” she whispers, her voice full of wonder.
“Merry Christmas, Ebony. Now tell me what you’d like this year.” I smile down at her.
“I um, I …” She points to her upper lip where a white scar runs, showing she likely had a cleft palate in the past.
I glance up at her father, and he gives me a hopeful look. I realize it’s not because he thinks I can erase the scar, but because he wants to believe I can make her feel better about it. That’s a lot of faith to be putting in a department store Santa, and an impostor to boot.
I return my attention to the darling child. “Can I tell you a story, Ebony?”
